


ācweorna

by Namesonboats (Viken2592)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 20:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viken2592/pseuds/Namesonboats
Summary: I have no idea why I wrote this, I haven’t even played the whole game but he’s so beautiful? Nothing but shameless smut.





	ācweorna

I don’t know how we ended up here again.

No, that’s not true. Ever since the first time I laid eyes on him, I’ve wondered what it would be like to lay like this, spread before him, to have him drive into me. The curiosity and the need augmented every time we met, until that night he came to my house and I couldn’t pretend I didn’t want him.

This time, he’s folded his jacked to a bundle and placed it under my hips. The angle gives such sweet friction. Every time his hips meet mine, his cock presses against that spot inside me that makes my vision swim. I hate the way I can’t refrain from being vocal. At least I don't use words, only these helpless sounds of pleasure; gasps, moans, little “oh’s” that escape my lips when he places his hand on the top of the curls between my legs, pressing the heal of his palm just right against my clit. The movement sends flashes through my body, and I flex the muscles in my stomach to press against him, to chase that feeling.

I grasp his shoulders, sleek from sweat. I imagine what he must see as he looks down on me with lust-fogged eye, panting, mouth open. My breasts, moving with the pace he controls, their peaks still glistening from his saliva; my lips, swollen and red; my hair, spread out on the mattress. My human body, symbol of what he hates but can’t resist.

I admire his biceps, the intricate floral tattoo covering his right arm up to his neck and down his right pectoral. His nipples are small and brown, taut. The muscles of his stomach contract with the rhythm of his body as he fucks me. They say all elves are beautiful. No one can be more beautiful than him.

He’s still wearing his bandana. I don’t mind. I don’t want him to take it off for me. It would be an intimate sign of trust and I don’t need that from him.

I need only this, his body, his cock, his hands and his tongue. When he leans down, our sweat-slicked bodies press against each other, and I slide my hands down his back to grab at his tight buttocks. He doesn’t kiss me. He never has, and a part of me is afraid of what I might lose if he did. My mind, myself?

His pace is relentless. I angle my hips, just slightly, and he groans and swears something in his language.

I’m getting close. Heat spins tight in my abdomen. A slight frisson dance on the insides of my thighs; they start to quiver. When it hits me, it hits like a lance of fire through my body, shaking me to my core. I arch against him, toes curling, my fingers dig into the skin of his back. It will leave a mark. It has before.

His pace slows and stops as he watches me come down from that crevice, still trembling, heart racing behind my ribs. Just as I begin to catch my breath, he pulls out and turns me around to grab at my hips. He drags me onto my knees and pushes into me again with a groan. I keen, in pleasure as much as in protest, for I wasn’t ready for how this would feel. With only a few thrusts, I’m climbing that crevice again, nearing it alarmingly fast. He continues his determined rhythm. I can’t help but to meet him with my own movements, crying out as he hits that spot again and again. All ceases to exist but sensation; his smell, like the breath of the forest, hand on my back, stroking me, his cock entering me with each snap of his hips, sending flashes of electric currents through my whole body, down my arms and out to my fingertips. I desperately grasp the linen on the bed.

As I turn my neck, I get a look of him through my eyelashes. I expect to see that smug, victorious smirk on his face, but instead I see him lost in sensation too; his expression a mix of wonder, pleasure and… reverence? I can’t meet that emotion, so I close my eyes and crane my neck as he reaches out a hand to flex his fingers around my shoulder. He’s close now, I hear it in his own sounds, and I can’t help but shiver at the panting of his breath, the little “yes” that spill from his mouth. His fingers clutch my skin and he yanks. I arch against him. The wave of spiked pleasure sends me over the edge again, taking me with him as I clench around him. He presses my body against the mattress, his whole frame shaking as his release pulsates inside me.

Inside me. Shit.

I pull away from him, his spill sticking to the insides of my thighs.

“You idiot!”

I grasp the blanket from the bed and wrap it around my body. I’m still trembling from the orgasm that coursed through me like a landslide. My legs feel like jelly.

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes convey something naked; not regret but a flash of hurt. I can’t meet that gaze and look away as he pulls his breeches back on.

“Just go.”

He pauses as he reach for his jacket, searching for something in my face. I can’t meet the question he conveys and point towards my door.

He says my name and our eyes meet. What is this fluttering sensation in my chest? I refuse to recognize it.

My heart sinks as his face hardens. He walks towards my bedroom door.

“Don’t come back. I mean it.” I cringe at how ridiculous the words sound.

He will, and I won’t stop him.


End file.
